


Simple Things, The

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon - Engaging gap-filler, Canon - Enhances original, Canon - Outstanding AU/reinterpretation, Characters - Well-handled emotions, Characters - Well-handled romance/eroticism, Fourth Age, General, Plot - Can't stop reading, Plot - Joy, Writing - Clear prose, Writing - Engaging style, Writing - Well-handled PoV(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 23:40:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3788623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vignette.  Eowyn contemplates her feelings for Faramir. An answer to A’mael Taren’s March Challenge: “Did Éowyn truly love Faramir?  Write a story in support of your opinion.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simple Things, The

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

**Author’s Notes** : Written to answer A'mael Taren's challenge: "Did Eowyn truly love Faramir? Write a story supporting your answer." This is considerably different than your typical prose.

********  
 ** _It’s the simple things._**

_It’s the way he smiles at her._ World-weary eyes never failing to shine with benevolence upon her. Genuine. Encouraging. Healing. He smiles even when his spirit is crushed by the weight of the dead and by obligations he never asked for. That gentle smile never wavers as he articulates kind words of compassion – never for himself – only for her.

_It’s the way he holds himself_. Tall and upright. Proud but humble. A prince, but a man wholly devoted to even the least of his people. He has a quiet confidence that speaks clearly of his nobleness and worth. She often finds herself straightening her posture when in his company, inwardly challenging herself to become more like the gracious man before her.

_It’s his effortless dignity._ Complete submission and love for his king. The silent tears of grief he sheds for his father and brother. Understanding that she does not need his protection but quietly offering it nevertheless. All these things he does in silence, completely unaware how vociferously his actions speak for his character.

_It’s his imagination._ A poet. A scholar. A musician. He walks in worlds others cannot imagine. When she sees him quietly regarding the morning, she can almost see words and notes and rhymes dancing around his head. His grey eyes sparkle at her curiosity when she asks him to share his thoughts. He always does.

_It’s his hands._ Long, tapered fingers – ever calloused and tan, despite the fact that he is no longer a soldier. He loves to press his hands flat upon her stomach and trace maddeningly slow circles around her navel. Not once has she ever had reason to fear those gentle hands.

_It’s his mouth._ Warm and sweet. Lips pressing a lazy trail of kisses down the side of her neck. Verse and adulation upon his tongue. Quiet whispers in the night that soothe her uncertainties. Never an untruth upon his lips.

_It’s the way he adores their children._ Laughter and encouragement. Open arms stretched wide in unconditional love, in comfort, or in the desire to simply hold his children near. He passes on wisdom to their eager ears and teaches them the value of all life.

_It’s the small gestures._ A kiss each morning and night, predictable as the dawn. A cup of tea placed before her after a difficult day, fixed just the way she likes it. Lemon, no sugar.

It was never some colossal deed or declaration that captured her heart. He never strove to be more than what he was in her eyes. He never had to. His love for her was never about causing the pitter-patter of her heart or the feel of butterflies in her stomach; those things came all on their own. His love was expressed the little things he did – things that spoke unmistakably of his abiding devotion to her.

It was always the simple things . . . and that was precisely how she knew she loved him back.


End file.
